


Transparent

by Destina



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 02:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12159921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: Merlin thinks he's subtle. The knights would beg to differ.





	Transparent

**Author's Note:**

> Episode tag to 4x05. When I was writing this, the file was called knightslovemerlin.doc. I think that says it all. *g* Posted to LJ in June 2013, but I forgot to put it on AO3.

After Queen Annis graciously accepted her defeat, Arthur had just enough strength to walk gracefully back to the campaign tent. Merlin could see how much it cost him; the fine trembling in strong arms accustomed to bearing heavy weight, tasked to maximum effort. Merlin was still not quite sure what had happened down on the battlefield, but he recognized signs of enchantment when presented with them, and he planned to examine Arthur's sword the very first chance he got. He suspected Morgana's hand in the day's events, and from that point forward, he had no intention of allowing Arthur to touch anything before battle unless he had examined it that very moment. Arthur was accustomed to ignoring Merlin's fussing and odd behavior, and his annoyance would be a small price to pay for preserving his life. 

Merlin sent Arthur out there without that simple precaution -- he told him he was ready, of all the abominably stupid things. He would never make that mistake again. 

For now, he set to work on Arthur's armor, easily able to divest him of it in minutes, after so many years of practice. Arthur stood as still as a statue, with none of his characteristic complaining about Merlin's incredible slowness. Merlin clipped Arthur in the ear just to see him send an annoyed look over his shoulder, followed with a predictable "Careful, Merlin! I did not survive a battle with a giant just to have you sever my ear getting my armor off."

"Sorry, sire," Merlin said, offering an apologetic smile, one which grew wider when the corner of Arthur's mouth quirked up, almost against his will. Berating Merlin for his incompetence never failed to raise Arthur's spirits. It was the truest way Merlin knew of to curb the restless exhaustion pouring off Arthur in waves. 

"I'll fetch you some supper," Merlin said, as he lifted the chain mail free and set it aside. 

Arthur waved tiredly at him. "Not now." He thumped down in the chair which doubled as his throne, ornately pretentious and very much not who Arthur was, anymore, and began tugging at his own muddy boots. "You may go." 

Merlin ignored him and knelt at his feet, pulling off first one boot, then the next. Arthur handed that task over to him as he always did, hands resting on the arms of the chair, not so much relaxed as exhausted. Merlin risked a look up at Arthur's shoulder, at the small bloodstain there, and said, "Shall I summon--"

"There will be no summoning of anyone or anything, Merlin, because I would like nothing more than silence, and to be alone for a time. If you think you can manage it." There was no harshness in Arthur's tone, just a warm weariness, and a tone of soft command.

"Certainly, sire," Merlin said, understanding that the desire for aloneness was not about Merlin, but about all the others who would soon crowd in, Agravaine and well-meaning counselors and advisers, and Merlin could control that for him. 

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur said. He leaned forward, cupping his hand gently at the nape of Merlin's neck, thumb rubbing softly there. "You may go." 

The touch of Arthur's hand lingered on Merlin's skin long after he had pushed out the tent flaps. He turned to the king's guard, who glanced at him impassively, and said, "The king wishes to be undisturbed for a time. Per the king's orders, if anyone should wish to speak to the king, you are to turn them away and send for me, do you understand?"

"As you say," the guard answered, meeting the eyes of his counterpart on the other side of the entrance. Merlin nodded, satisfied that Arthur would have at least a short time to himself. 

Outside the camp was celebrating, wineskins circulating freely among the knights, and so much laughter the night seemed filled with a golden joy. Merlin hesitated, glancing back toward the closed tent flap. Inside, Arthur was grunting in pain as he finished undressing, because he thought Merlin had left him to his aches and pains in peace. It made Merlin's heart ache to know Arthur was pondering the events of the day alone. His self-imposed exile was unnecessary, and it wore on Merlin. 

He was a thin moment from going back inside and dragging Arthur out by the fire when he heard Gwaine's voice just behind him. "Come on, then," Gwaine said, and Merlin turned to find him watching with a knowing expression. "Best leave the king be."

"Easy for you to say," Merlin said. "It's not you he'll be shouting for when he's hungry later and hasn't been fed." 

Gwaine put a warm hand on his shoulder and tugged. "There's wine and stew, and Percival is telling tales of his prowess with a sword," Gwaine said, winking. "Wouldn't want to miss that." 

"Oh, never," agreed Merlin, glancing back at the tent again. Perhaps he could persuade Arthur to try some stew. 

"Merlin," came a call from the circle at the fire -- Elyan -- and "Merlin!" That was Percival. Gwaine gently but firmly tugged him forward, and Merlin forced himself to go, grudging. 

Leon smiled at him as Merlin eased down on the log beside him, and Gwaine settled easily on the other side. Their fire was high and inviting, easing the chill off Merlin's skin. "Here," Elyan said, passing him a bowl of stew. Merlin took it, warming his hands around it, and only belatedly did it occur to him that he should be serving them, not the other way around. But Gwaine's hand stayed on his shoulder, pressing him in place, and the smell of the stew was so delicious. 

"Who made this?" Merlin said suspiciously. 

"Elyan," Leon answered. "So it's not quite as tasty as gruel, but better than soup from old bones." 

"Quite funny, that," Elyan said with an irritated scowl, to the laughter of the others. "Next time, you can cook your own." 

"Definitely not!" Percival said, grinning at Leon. "His is even worse than yours!"

"Don't know about you lot, but I'm accustomed to Merlin's cooking now," Gwaine said with a smirk. "It's not so bad." 

The others nodded in agreement, while Merlin tucked into Elyan's definitely-not-awful stew. His stomach was still in knots from the combat, but even so, it demanded to be fed like some sort of wild beast was hunkered down in the depths. He staved off the growling noises by polishing off the bowl. Gwaine traded him a tankard for the bowl, and he took a long swig of barely watered wine. 

It was good to have the combat over with, at any rate. There was still much to be sorted, but Arthur was safe, and the honor of Camelot was restored. All in all, a good day. 

"It was a near thing, the combat today," Elyan said softly. "We almost lost our king." 

"Strange, wasn't it?" Percival picked up a crooked stick and stirred the fire, stoking it back to brilliance before adding more wood. "It was almost as though Arthur's sword was too heavy for him, for a moment."

Merlin swallowed hard, the wine suddenly bitter in his throat. 

"Perhaps he was weary," Gwaine suggested. "The mantel of kingship is no doubt heavy on any man."

"We should not speculate on why Arthur fights as he does," Leon said sternly, glancing at each of them in turn. 

"At least not while you are in the circle, you great protective mother hen," Gwaine said, and the others laughed. Leon grinned good-naturedly. 

"Still," Elyan said. "One wonders if there was another force at work, protecting Camelot today."

"If there was," Gwaine said, "then we would all owe that force a debt of thanks." He took Merlin's empty tankard away and passed Merlin his own, still full. "A power that great should be protected. Cherished." 

"Kept safe from any who would seek to harm it," Elyan added. 

"Respected," Percival said. 

Merlin found he could not breathe. The tankard in his hands seemed as heavy as an anvil, and his chest was tight. He dared not meet any of the knights' eyes, for fear he would blurt out something dreadful, something too revealing. The fire seemed too hot; he was sweltering in the midst of these men, his friends. He raised the tankard for a long drink, to calm his nerves and soothe his dry throat. 

"Tell me, Merlin," Elyan said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and Merlin looked at him over the rim of the tankard. "What were those strange words you spoke, on the cliffside? I've never heard them before." His tone was casual, but Elyan's direct stare seemed to bore right through Merlin's skull. The stew he'd just tossed down threatened to come back up. 

He had known when he spoke the spell that there were too many eyes and ears around him; the risk was immense. But it had to be done, or Arthur would have died, and for Merlin, there had never been a choice in such moments. If he was discovered, then so be it. Arthur's life was worth the cost. 

Even so, his muscles tensed, and his body readied for flight. He looked at each of the knights in turn, and found them all watching him intently. He couldn't outrun or outfight them. He'd have to use magic to flee, if it came to that. 

It was over. 

The thought that it was this which had brought his secret to light gave him a moment's relief, and he nodded to himself. It was almost fitting. Arthur was king, now, and his destiny assured. Merlin could leave camp, find Morgana, and put an end to her threats to Camelot and to Arthur. And then his destiny would be at an end. It gave him an odd kind of peace, to think of it, even as he struggled to listen to what the knights were saying. 

"Whatever those words were," Elyan said, "they were music to our ears. All of our ears, Merlin. And they were music the king need never hear." 

If Merlin's heart were to pound any harder, it would leap from his chest. He stared at Elyan, trying to unravel it. 

"You know," Leon said, spooning more stew into the bowl Merlin had emptied, "there are many ways to protect Camelot. And our king. Some of those ways are beyond the understanding of most of us here."

"Your life was saved by magic, wasn't it, Leon?" Elyan asked, never looking away from Merlin. 

"I would say so," Leon said, haltingly, because the shadow of Uther's judgment on that matter still lingered. It was not as if anyone had ever blamed Leon for being alive, but some had said Uther would have preferred never to have that incessant reminder of the immense power of Druid magic, bowing before him every day. 

Merlin stared at each knight, one after the other, and set his tankard carefully on the ground with a shaking hand. 

"Merlin." Gwaine's voice was full of affection. He took the bowl of stew from Leon and held it out until Merlin took it slowly. "None here will see you harmed." He leaned closer and whispered in Merlin's ear, "I've always suspected. Well, since the Perilous Lands, anyway." 

"To our king, and to those who protect him," Percival said softly, and he raised his tankard in Merlin's direction. Elyan followed, and Leon. Merlin's breath caught, and the pressure in his chest eased. A small smile found its way to his face, echoed in the warm smiles of the others. 

Gwaine simply grabbed Merlin's spoon and stole a bite of stew. Mouth full, he said, "Are you going to eat all of this? It's actually not bad." 

Merlin batted Gwaine's hand away, his stomach back to its rumbling, demanding its due. "I'm famished," he said truthfully. 

"Eat up, then," Gwaine said. 

In the close circle of the fire, they scooted nearer to Merlin as he ate, watching him, and Elyan took his bowl when he was done. 

"You should get some sleep," Leon said, gesturing toward the bedroll laid out for him on the ground. 

Merlin cast a worried eye toward Arthur's tent. 

"Fear not," Elyan said. "We will keep watch."

"Over both of you," Gwaine said, his gaze on Merlin, and his hand on the hilt of his sword.


End file.
